Installment 3

"So, Miss Clark, will you join me?"

I moved my mouth silently, hesitantly. He was so fun, so foreign, so...so strange. Who in their right mind would visit the 'humble abode' of a young Englishman found in the mountains of Colorado? I mean, it's not natural, I thought. Still, my mouth hung open ready to blow out an answer.

Say something! Don't stand there looking stupid!

My chin tilted up, "Yes, I will join you to your house."

My mind cringed. My mouth had misbehaved. It had betrayed me! That's not really what I wanted to do. I needed to stay and write! I needed to create if I wanted to be a fiction extraordinaire!

"Ah, splendid!" Fred cried and slapped his thigh. He grabbed my hand. He pulled me to Hound. He started to hoist me up.
"I--I--Hound won't kill me will he?" The thought rolled off my tongue passionately. There went my resolution for being completely stoic--for the fiftieth time.

"What? Oh, of course not! The Hound of Ulster is the gentlest of dogs. He would not harm a fly, unless I gave him the signal."

"Signal? Signal for what?" I gulped. Did I want to know? And why were we getting on the Hound's back?

"Oh, it is just the signal for when I want the Hound to attack. Every time I repeat the signal, his attack gets more mortal, I guess you could say. First signal, say a leg. Second signal, say the shoulder. Third, well...it is not genteel to say to a lady as yourself.

"My father gave him to me when he was just a pup, and I had to train the Hound myself. I needed a faithful guardian, and the Hound grew so large I ride him like any horse. He is quite comfortable, don't you agree?"

Fred glanced over his shoulder. I nodded. I was a little stunned. The situation was not getting anymore natural. This stuff happened in the books I wrote. Actually, I don't think I ever did get this creatively...weird.

The fur of the Hound was not silk, but tickled from the tiny curls in it. My legs swung in the air. Fred's even did. This canine was huge. He turned his dignified head to gaze at me. Nervously, I glanced down. He seemed to know what I was thinking.

Wait. No. You are imagining things, Molly, I thought. I looked back up, but the Hound had turned his head to the front again in disinterest.

"I would tuck that little notebook away if I were you. We are going to dash willy-nilly when I give the command." Fred grinned at me. Such a British smile, I thought.

I followed his order, hiding my notebook at the tan messenger bag hanging against my right leg. I tucked my hair behind my ears.

Fred Ritz leaned forward to speak into the animal's ear, and my head immediately jerked back.

What had I gotten myself into?